


A Forward Path - Chapter 82/83 Coda

by umbrellaless22



Series: A Forward Path [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, I mean it, M/M, Please heed the summary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrellaless22/pseuds/umbrellaless22
Summary: Superdon'tread this unless you are reading A Forward Path and give a shit about OCs.Basically the height of egoism because I'm pretty sure this is fanfiction of my own fanfiction and I am vaguely horrified.Clark 3rd peson POV Coda for Chapters 82 and 83 of A Forward Path.
Relationships: Clark Tiering & Karanjeet Atwal, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy (offscreen)
Series: A Forward Path [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871332
Comments: 26
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: references to past child neglect, mental illness, violence, ableist language

The whole business with Atwal could have been avoided if Clark was a morning person. Instead, when the little hammer rattled the bells of his wind-up alarm clock well before dawn, Clark smacked it silent. 

“What the fuck, Tiering?” another boy grumbled from across the dorm. Everyone had to get up early, but not this early. This was absurd. And with that thought, Clark fell back asleep. 

When the other alarms, both mechanical and magical, started sounding a lot closer to dawn, Clark jumped awake. _Shit, shit, shit,_ he thought to himself, scrambling out of bed, his heart giving sharp staccato beats of panic and disappointment. God, he’d fucked it up already. He’d wanted a shower, but apparently that wasn’t going to work. He smeared on extra deodorant, instead, and hurried into his clothes. He grabbed his satchel stuffed with food from the kitchen, his wand, and his freshly charged mp3 player and raced into the makeshift common room, and straight into Karanjeet Atwal. _Fuck._

Atwal gave him a restrained smile, because the serious boy was incapable of anything else. He was dressed a bit more formally than strictly necessary. His black shirt button up had thin grey pinstripes and was tucked neatly into grey wool trousers. His shoes were polished black Oxfords. And all that just for classes. He even wore his school cloak, which virtually no one seemed to actually do any more. It was all a bit much, if Clark was being honest. Atwal, unlike Clark, looked freshly showered, his black hair shiny and slightly damp, white teeth sparkling. Clark edged his tongue around his own slightly furry teeth and took a small step back, which was when his bladder pinged to let him know it had also noticed it was morning. 

“Morning, Tiering,” Atwal greeted him, “Going somewhere?” Clark thought the words might be something akin to a joke, but Jesus, Atwal was bad at jokes and maybe he just shouldn’t try. Tiering had thought the boy's demeanour might have just been Atwal's quidditch practice persona. After all, for what was supposed to be rec league, they were a bit of a serious bunch, save for Fitz’ boisterous joviality. He’d not given it much thought, but he supposed he assumed Atwal was just adopting the serious tone of the other players, but maybe it was less of an assimilation thing and more of a personality thing. 

“Uh, yeah,” Clark said, looking around the common room which was teeming with Slytherins and their accompanying full moon buddies or whatever the wholesome name Hermione had given her plan for dealing with the cwalus. The common room felt too magical, some days. Clark wasn’t sure he trusted it. Like a bunch of professors got together one day and presto, new common room, new dorms, new furniture and none of it bought at a store, every inch transfigured from something else. One morning they’d awoken to find Hiram’s bed reverted back to a rickety wooden desk. Good thing Fantyl was tiny or it could have ended with broken bones and splinters. Clark shuddered, then realised Atwal was still eying him expectantly. “Gotta piss,” Clark said, because it was true. 

Atwal looked irritated but waved a gracious hand, “Let’s go then.”

“I can piss by myself,” Clark growled, raising his chin to look up at the Gryffindor. He could almost hear his mum’s words at the gesture. _Oh, I know that look. Going to get all scrappy with your old mum, eh?_ Then she’d usually chuck him under the chin affectionately. It was hard to feel determined and indignant when one was being chucked under the chin. 

“I’m certain you can,” Atwal agreed. “But my assignment is to stay with you, and I intend on keeping up my end of the arrangement. 

Clark groaned inwardly but stalked off towards the toilets with Atwal close beside him. Hiram appeared within a few steps, almost bouncing on his toes, a Gryffindor Clark didn’t recognise standing self-importantly beside him. 

“Hi!” Hiram said, “Going for breakfast? Want to sit with me?”

Clark did not understand this line of questioning. When did he not sit with Hiram? Not like he had a cupboard full of friends at Hogwarts. Sure, since Harry took an interest in his life, other students were friendly enough, but Hiram was the only one he would really call a friend. 

“‘Course,” he lied, feeling a bit guilty. “We’ll be down in a bit, yeah?”

Hiram beamed like Clark had said they were ditching class to go to, fuck, what was some nerdy thing Hiram would like, maybe an observatory or something. Actually, on second thought, skipping class would make Hiram anxious, so maybe breakfast with his best mate really was all that for him. Clark had to admit it was kind of flattering. He smiled a bit as Hiram scuttled off with the Gryffindor at his side. 

***

To Clark's frustration, Atwal was still waiting for him outside the toilets. He'd tried his hardest to waste time, opting to shower after all, which was pure idiocy because he didn’t bring a towel, and he’d had to sort of awkwardly shake dry until an upper year took pity on him and fired off a spell which evaporated enough of the water for Clark to at least get dressed. After that, he’d taken the time to style his hair into his mohawk, despite it not being a weekend. It was not as though he was headed for classes. His hair was admittedly too long on the sides now, and the orange was fading. It looked less badass and more confused tropical bird, but not much doing now.

“Shall we?” Asked Atwal, an eyebrow quirking at Clark’s hair, and Jesus, did he have to talk like a bloody king all the time? 

Clark curled his lip, and, in the absence of any other plans, he set off running. 

He heard a startled cry from behind him, presumably Atwal, which he ignored, and burst out the door to the common room and towards the dungeons. 

Despite his headstart, Atwal caught up with him just as he started down the damp stairs into the bowels of the castle. Clark figured it was likely due to his longer legs and, Clark admitted, a higher level of general fitness. Clark hadn’t really been a sports bloke before quidditch, and he bet Atwal played like cricket or polo or some posh shit, juding by his school clothes. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Atwal demanded, a firm hand closing down on Clark’s shoulder. 

Clark didn’t answer him, just attempted to dart out of his grasp. It didn’t work. Atwal was stronger and bigger and, unlike Clark, had actually completed puberty, the bastard. Clark suspected the other boy even had to shave and shit, and his voice wasn’t high and childish like Clark’s own. He probably had loads more testosterone which was apparently helpful for restraining runaway eleven-year-olds. 

“Let me go,” Clark demanded. “I just have to do something, alright?”

“Do something?” Atwal demanded, “In the dungeons?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“What exactly is this something?” Atwal asked dubiously. 

“What it is is none of your fucking business. Look, just go for breakfast, alright? No one’s going to notice I’m gone, and you can enjoy your day not worrying about me, problem solved.” Clark managed to duck free of the hand on his shoulder and he scurried down the hallway towards the old Slytherin dorms. He’d considered somewhere harder to search, like the Forbidden Forest, but he wasn’t totally sure of the cwalus’ range. Like maybe the quidditch pitch was fair game but the train platform was too far, how was he to know? Besides, the old dorms were definitely within her purview, and no one was going to go hunting through burnt out stonework and singed rags of tapestries. 

“I’m your full moon buddy,” Atwal insisted, following behind him through the narrow passage. “I’m to stay with you.”

“Well, soldier,” Clark replied dryly, “I’m relieving you of duty. You are no longer responsible for me. So. Off you go.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works. Ginny Weasley gave me the post. Her and Granger are in charge of all this, not you. What if something happens to you? I’ll be responsible.”

Clark didn’t answer him, just increased his speed until he arrived at the hole that Longbottom had blown in the dungeon wall. He set about climbing over the rubble when Karanjeet grabbed him, yanking him down. It was all Clark could do to hop and land awkwardly on his feet, a few bricks falling alongside him and clunking dully to the floor. 

“Fucking hell, Atwal!” Growled Clark, whirling to face the other boy and fix him with a glare, “Leave me alone.”

“No,” was the response. “Seems to me that you’re planning something. I’d like to know what.”

“I’m sure you would,” Clark groused, shaking him off. “Fine. If you’re not going to leave, you’d better come with me. But I swear to God, Atwal, if you come with me now, I won’t fucking let you leave before dawn tomorrow. So you’re in or you’re out, got it?”

“And I’m supposed to just agree to some mad shenanigans with no inkling of what they are about?” Atwal sounded appalled. 

Clark started climbing the rubble heap again. “That’s the offer. Take it or leave it.”

Atwal gave an irritated huff, but after a glance down the empty corridor, he followed.

***

“Alright,” Atwal said as they settled into the first year dormitory. Well, Clark settled. Atwal stood at the doorway, unconvinced. “What are we doing?”

Clark ignored him in favour of yanking an apple out of his pack. He chucked another one at Atwal, who caught it easily, despite the lack of warning and the inappropriately aggressive throw. 

“Tiering?” Atwal prompted. 

Clark bit savagely into his apple. All his fucking planning wasted because he’d fallen back asleep. Idiotic. 

“Tiering! I asked you a question!”

“Yeah,” Clark answered, talking with his mouth full and taking bitter delight in the way his poor manners made Atwal wince. “And you might take it from my not saying anything that I don’t intend on answering you. You don’t have to do anything except fucking stay here and not snitch. That’s your whole job.”

“Not snitch?” Atwal’s brow furrowed suspiciously. “You’re not brewing some sort of potion, are you? Something illegal? That requires a full moon? Awfully young to be into illicit activity, aren’t you? Though I suppose from looking at you, I could draw some conclusions,” he swept his brown eyes over Clark’s ratty red band shirt and torn jeans and faded, overgrown mohawk. 

“Oi, fuck you,” Clark spat. “Just because I don’t dress like a bloody banker visiting his divorce lawyer doesn’t mean I’m a criminal, you classist, bootlicking piece of shit. I’m not breaking any laws, so you can calm the fuck down and leave me alone.”

He dug out his mp3 player and yanked his headphones over his ears. Atwal leapt away at the sight of the device, throwing his hands up as though it were a fucking bomb. 

Groaning, Clark pulled his headphones down around his neck. “Oh, fucking calm down will you? I’m not about to torture you with some evil muggle device. It’s just a music player.”

Atwal did not look convinced. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Clark grumbled. He turned the volume all the way up on his player, leaving the headphones around his neck until a tinny approximation of music could be heard. “See? Music.”

“How does the music get in there?” Atwal asked. He wouldn’t sit down. It made Clark antsy. 

“You, like, plug it into your computer and click and drag the files you want.”

“A what pewter?”

“Not taking muggle studies, hey?” 

Atwal sniffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, still holding his apple. “It’s not pertinent to my future career.”

“Of course not,” Clark replied, “Why learn about a culture that probably more than half your peers come from.”

Atwal bristled, “Not like they are all racing to learn about mine.”

“Given you’re posh and pureblood, I guess you mean like being Indian or whatever?”

Atwal just shrugged. 

“People being shitty?”

“Not overtly, not usually. Sometimes, yeah, but mostly just ignorant. Like, ‘if you’re Sikh, why don’t you wear a turban?’ Largest minority in the country but no one bothers to learn anything about us beyond bloody stereotypes.”

Clark twisted his mouth, not particularly wanting to admit he would have asked the same question about the turban thing. But, like, he wasn’t uncomfortable around Indian kids and for some reason he wanted Atwal to know that. “I grew up poor. I know lots of immigrants. More brown kids than white kids at my old school. I know knowing isn't the same is being. But like, you don’t know what it’s like to be poor and muggle-born and I don’t know what it’s like to be posh or, whatsit, racialised.”

Atwal wrinkled his nose suspiciously. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I don’t think I do either, totally,” Clark admitted. “Just seen it in ‘zines and things. I’m think it’s like... people can’t look at me and know I’m muggle-born. It’s not quite like that for you. I think it is something about that. So. I dunno. It’s probably not easy.” Clark wondered if he should apologise, but didn’t think that was right, either. He forced himself to stop babbling.

Atwal appraised him for a minute and it made Clark squirm. There was anger and irritation, sure, but also something else, something curious.

“Are you gonna just stand there and scowl at me all day?” Clark demanded, “I meant it, we’re not leaving until dawn tomorrow so you might as well settle in.”

There was a long moment of weighted silence, but eventually Atwal crossed the dorm and took a seat on the bed across from Clark’s.

“Are you really not going to tell me why we’re here?” He asked. 

Clark considered him. “I just have an idea. It might not work, might be nothing. And if I tell you, you might snitch. So. No.”

“But you’ll tell me if you start hearing voices in your head?”

“Probably not. But I won’t do what they tell me, if that helps.”

“You’re impossible,” Atwal remarked, flopping back on the bed and finally biting into his apple. Ash and dust bellowed out from beneath him as he did so. “You couldn’t have chosen a cleaner venue for whatever this is?” He asked, casting a dismayed cleaning spell. 

“If I’d known you’d insist on following me, I would have told you to dress down. But my plan was to give you the slip altogether.”

“You’re not helping ease my concerns of criminality.”

“Well, you can believe what you want to. I don’t rightly care.”

***

After finishing his apple, and vanishing the core, Atwal dozed while pretending not to. Clark listened to his music, keeping it at a low enough volume so he could hear the cwalus if she popped in for a visit. Only when Harry’s Patronus arrived did Atwal awake with a snort, looking around in confusion for a moment, before sitting up. 

“What the fuck was that?” He mumbled. 

Clark pursed his lips, “Harry’s looking for me. Fuck. I was hoping that with all the bustle of today no one would notice.”

Atwal looked sleepy and confused, like he couldn’t quite follow the plot. Clark was a bit amused.

“Alright there? Get some beauty sleep?” He asked. 

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Atwal protested. “Wouldn’t sleep when I am supposed to keep an eye on you.”

“Hard to keep an eye on me when both are closed though, wouldn’t you say?”

Atwal didn’t answer that. “I hope you brought more food than just apples,” he said instead. 

“‘Course,” Clark said. “I’ve got scones, cheese sandwiches, kippers, and pumpkin juice. You’re lucky I asked for enough rations for two days or we’d both be hungry by tomorrow.”

Atwal grunted in reply and Clark tossed him a scone and small flagon of pumpkin juice, while digging into a cheese sandwich of his own. Atwal didn’t seem interested in conversation, so Clark jammed his headphones back over his ears. Atwal mouthed something. Clark pulled down the headphones, not masking his irritation. 

“What?” he said. 

“I said, what are you listening to then?”

“Nothing you’d have heard of.”

“You don’t know that," Atwal argued.

“Know a lot of muggle punk bands, then?”

“Well, no.”

“Or any muggle music to speak of?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then why’d you ask?” Clark demanded. 

“Because apparently I’m to stay in this bloody room with you for 24 hours and would rather not lose all my brain cells to tedium.”

“Well,” Clark said, after a moment, “Right now I’m listening to an album by a Swedish punk band. They’re like, anti-establishment and pro-labour and stuff. It’s heavier than most of the stuff I’m into, but you pissed me off, so.”

“Ah,” replied Atwal. “And are you...anti-establishment and pro-labour? What does that even mean?”

“I am, yeah,” Clark answered, tilting up his chin and giving the other boy a challenging glare. “But I’m not your fucking professor. If you want to learn something, look it up.” He dug through his satchel and tossed a ‘zine across the aisle. On it was stamped **A CALL TO ARMS: LET US LEAVE OUR SHACKLES IN THE 20th CENTURY**. “Here.”

“What’s this? Muggle proletariat propaganda?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Clark agreed. 

Atwal paged through it. “This all sounds a bit violent, Tiering.”

Clark shrugged, “Placidity has got us nowhere. A bloodless revolution isn’t going to cut it.”

“And what exactly are you revolting for?”

“Loads of things. Demolishing the rich-poor gap. Preventing environmental destruction and humans rights abuses by corporations, protecting the vulnerable,” Clark listed. 

“With explosions and carnage?”

“If that’s what will make them listen.”

Atwal was silent for a long time before tossing the worn ‘zine back at Clark. “It's easy for first years. You weren’t here last year.”

“Were you? For the battle, I mean?”

Atwal shook his head, “Not the battle, no. I was only a third year, I wouldn’t have been able to help any. But even before the final fight...I just don’t like violence much, Tiering. It’s not exciting, it’s just terrifying. We had no control, and we got barely any news from home. We had no idea what was happening with our parents, our neighbours. We weren’t allowed home for the holidays, we weren’t allowed to say anything against pureblood rhetoric. My parents never allowed that kind of talk, and I was convinced they’d be targeted, that one day I'd just stop hearing from them altogether. If I’d not been forced to stay here, I think we would have fled, but it was like I was being held hostage. If my parents left, they’d kill me. If my parents spoke out against the Death Eaters, they’d kill me. Forgive me if I’ve had enough threats of violence for one lifetime.”

Clark felt an uncomfortable ache behind his ribs. He’d heard murmurs and sort of knew the gist of the war, but he often forgot about this: how Hogwarts was virtually a Hitler Youth camp. It was so weird that all that was going on and he was oblivious, besides the uptick in the news about 'terrorist activity'. It had all still felt awfully separate from him and his life. He wondered again about the stuff Harry and Draco mentioned but never told him. He wondered if they would if he asked. Probably, he supposed, but he wasn't sure he actually wanted to hear it. He hated when Harry got that haunted, sad look, and it made Draco rush to protect him. Come to think of it, maybe Draco was protecting Clark from the worst of it, too. 

“But all that, it had to be ended with violence, didn’t it?” Clark said, feeling his mouth go dry. “Like, it was a war. On both sides.”

“Yeah, but if the ministry hadn’t flubbed up so badly, it maybe needn’t have been. If the Dark Lord was apprehended earlier, if people had just believed Potter when he first spoke up...it could have been different. There are ways to stop the course of evil without just doing more evil.”

"But how? The stuff I’m against, people have been against it for my whole life, for longer, and it doesn’t change.”

“It does in some ways, things get better, don’t they?”

“Maybe,” Clark shrugged, “Maybe for people with money. Not for kids who are basically indentured servants sewing twelve hours a day in factories.”

“And what exactly are you going to do about all the evils of muggle industry?” Atwal challenged.

“I don’t know!” Clark spat, “I just know I’d rather be backing the folks who want to do something about it than the ones who just get rich off it.”

“I guess I can’t fault you for that.” Atwal shifted on his bed, crossing his arms. He tilted his head, as if seeing Clark in a new light. “You’re just a kid, you know,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about this stuff just yet, I wouldn’t think.”

“If you want to stay in the cave, that’s your business. For me, I’ll face the sun.” He announced, and he liked the way it sounded: righteous, maybe.

Clark yanked his headphones back on. He didn’t want to talk any more. 

***

By the time the fourth Patronus arrived, Atwal was a bit stir crazy. He was wandering the dormitory, scavenging old socks and soot-covered textbooks from under the beds, and gathering the various first years leavings into a little pile. 

“What are you doing?” Clark asked, not attempting to disguise his disdain. 

Atwal observed the pile like he’d not even known he’d made it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just something to do, I suppose. I’m fucking bored.”

“Not my problem,” Clark retorted, without sympathy, “I told you not to come.”

“You’re not even doing anything! You’re just sitting here. And Potter’s obviously worried about you. That last Patronus was all but frantic.”

Clark stretched and refolded his limbs, trying to push down the guilt. Harry’s voice ricocheting around the burnt out dormitory had sounded more panicked than Clark had been anticipating. But, he justified to himself, in a way, he was doing this for Harry. This cwalus thing had been a thorn in everyone’s side all year, and now Clark had an idea and if it worked, he’d tell Harry and Draco and they’d be super impressed and proud of him and certain they made the right choice in wanting to keep him around. 

“I’m waiting for something,” he said, finally. “I want to see if she shows up and then I’ll try it out.”

Atwal looked up from his pile and stared. “The cwalus? You’re waiting for the cwalus? Are you fucking out of your mind, Tiering?”

Clark shrugged, “What? It’s not like I haven’t dealt with her before. I know what it’s like. I think I could better stand up to her this time.”

Atwal rose, dusting his ash-smudged hands on his trousers. “Alright, I’ve had about enough of this. That’s fucking dangerous, Tiering, not to mention reckless. And maybe I remind you that you are first year? None of the faculty, no one in the DA, hell, not even Harry Potter has been able to put a stop to this, and you think you can just get a handle on it? You’re delusional. That’s it. I’m going to McGonagall, you fucking psycho.”

Clark leaped to his feet, his face flushing with anger. He hated that word. He crowded in towards the other boy, blocking his path to the door, “Call me that again, Atwal, and you’ll regret it.”

Atwal gave him a haughty look, “And what are you going to do? Strike me with your puny fists? Use your lame first-year spells? What are you even capable of at this point? _Lumos_ and _Nox_? You’re going to get yourself killed.”

He shoved past Clark and towards the door. Clark’s wheels spun fast, trying to change tact. 

“Coward!” He threw at Atwal’s back. “I knew you were nothing but a fucking snitch. Ratting out your own teammate, Atwal? That’s low. Besides. You’re supposed to look out for me. What if she shows up just after you leave. What if she lights up the whole castle this time and you’re not here to stop her. What do you think everyone will think of you then? Off tattling to the professors instead of actually doing something helpful.”

Atwal paused, looking conflicted. Before he could come up with an answer, though, the floor below them suddenly lit up with golden footsteps. Both Clark and Karanjeet hopped up onto the closest bed in surprise. 

“What the fuck!” Clark squeaked. 

“Oh, Merlin, I think it’s a tracking spell. Let me guess,” Atwal pointed to one of the beds at the end of the row which had the most gold about it, “that used to be your bed?”

Clark nodded, trying to make sense of the spell. “So it’s just like everywhere I have ever been?”

“Basically, for the last few months at least. Look, see where you are standing now? It’s brightest when it’s more recent. They’re really looking for you now, kid.”

Clark cursed. “Well, I’ve been all over this castle, it’s still not going to be easy for them." He wasn't convinced, and he got the feeling Atwal was still thinking of making a run for it it. He needed a distraction. "Interesting that they are only worried about me and not you.” He gave Atwal a smug smile. Atwal shoved him in return, and Clark tripped backwards, falling on his arse on the bed.

“Or they didn’t want to complicate things by alighting two sets of footprints, genius.”

Clark looked under where his hands fell on the mattress. “Does it leave handprints, too? Or how about arseprints?” He shifted over, but there was nothing. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“Astounding level of maturity. Truly.” Atwal said. Clark gave the side of his leg a fierce kick, and Atwal collapsed down beside him. 

“Oh, fuck you, you little—”

Clark took the opportunity to swipe the wand sticking out of Atwal’s pocket. He vanquished it, pointing it directly at Atwal. 

“Not okay, Tiering. Give that back at once,” Atwal demanded. 

“No,” Clark insisted. “I don’t trust your sorry arse to stay here. So I’m keeping this as collateral. Try anything and I’ll body bind you, don’t think that I won’t.”

Atwal lunged at him, and Clark shot off the spell, surprised at the strange feeling of the magic it Atwal's wand, but apparently it still worked. He watched Atwal’s body freeze and tip off the side of the mattress, landing on the stone floor with a decisive thunk. Clark peered over at him, ending the spell, and feeling just a little guilty. 

“Er, okay I didn’t mean for you to fall, but I did warn you," he admitted.

Atwal reached for him again, snarling, and Clark quickly issued the spell a second time. He scurried across the room before ending the bind. 

“Tiering, I swear, I will fucking—”

“Just stop!” Clark said, holding both his and Atwal's wands out. “I warned you! Leave me alone, and don’t leave this room, and you’ll maintain control of your limbs. Fuck with me, and I’ll keep you frozen until morning, don’t think that I won’t.”

“You’re such a little shit,” growled Atwal, but he raised his hands to show he wasn’t going to try anything, and settled himself on the bed, his glare intense and unforgiving. 

*** 

It was late when they spoke again, other than to negotiate a few bathroom breaks. Clark’s mp3 player had long run out of batteries. They’d eaten everything Clark had packed, with only a minor quibble over who got the last scone. 

“Please tell me you have something else in that bag," Atwal whinged, "Fuck it, I’ll even read your propaganda. I’m so brutally bored.”

Clark tossed him a couple of ‘zines, but before Atwal could open one, a couple of voices sounded from down the corridor. 

“Get down,” Clark hissed. “Under the bed, right now, Atwal, I swear to God—”

Begrudgingly, with Clark’s wand trained on him, Atwal lowered himself to the ground, shuffling his posh clothes along the filthy floor. As soon as he was under, Clark cast another body bind spell, then shimmied under another bed himself. 

The voices came closer. “Oh, Merlin, this isn’t going to help,” it was a girl’s voice, and not one Clark recognised. “This is just the old Slytherin dorms, so of course the kid has been here loads of times.”

“I don’t know, Michele,” said another girl’s voice, “Don’t you think these footprints look brighter than the rest?”

“Do they?” Michele sounded disinterested, “Not, I don’t think so. Just your wand lighting them up like that. Merlin, I’m tired. I think we’ve done our part. Following these tracks is such a waste of time. The kid is obviously done for.”

“Do you really think so?” the other girl said, and the voices were in the room now. Clark held his breath. “Harry’s really attached to him; he’s going to be really upset.”

“I don’t know what happened, like maybe he spent too much time tracking down Voldemort, but Harry Potter is, like, super Slytherin obsessed now. I don’t trust it.”

“Oh come on, Michele, that’s not fair. Two Slytherins don’t equal an obsession. It is weird seeing him with Malfoy, I’ll give you that, but Tiering is just their charity case, from that foundation Granger’s set up. I think it’s kind of sweet, really.”

“You think everything’s sweet,” Michele pointed out. Clark could see two pairs of dusty leather shoes beside the bed he was under. He knew if they turned, they would see his footprints all over the mattress he’d jumped on earlier. “Well, they’re not here. This place gives me the creeps, come on.”

The girls turned and left. Only several minutes after their voices faded, did Clark remember to release the spell on a _very_ unhappy Atwal. 

***

Only after Atwal dealt out another slew of threats, and was promptly body bound seven times in quick succession, did his anger give way to bitter resignation. 

“Those girls were right, you know,” he snarled. “You are a fucking charity case.”

“I’ve been a charity case my whole life, Atwal. You’re going to have to try harder than that to get under my skin.”

For some reason, this gave Atwal pause. He sat back on the bed, crossing his arms, and assessing Clark as if seeing him for the first time. 

“What’s it like, then?” Atwal demanded, trying to mask his curiousity with a challenge.

“What's what like?”

“Being a charity case.”

“What do you think, you birk? It's rotten. But you learn to fucking swallow your shame and never quite have what you need and you get on with it. And you get angry about a broken society where you have to go to the food bank if you want your kid brother to get fed, even though perfectly good food is thrown out at every grocery store and restaurant every fucking day. But like, bonus, the church ladies take pity on kids so you usually get a bit extra, maybe a pack of biscuits or whatever, provided you can convince them not to call Social Services and that you’re mum is just at work and not in bed for the eighth day running.”

Atwal chewed his lower lip, like he was trying not to be sympathetic because he suspected Clark might hate that, but that he also hadn’t quite expected it to sound all that bad. 

“Oh,” he said, finally. 

“Yeah, oh,” Clark retorted, “What the fuck did you think? A bit of thrift store shopping?”

“I guess I just didn’t think much about it,” Atwal admitted. “I didn’t think we had kids like that, you know, here.”

“Wow, blinded by your privilege, shocker.”

Atwal shifted guiltily, uncrossing and recrossing his arms. “And Harry and Malfoy, they...help?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, after a minute. “They give me basically whatever I ask for and it is fucking brilliant and fucking terrifying all at once."

"Terrifying? How come?"

"Because what if I get used to it, and then it is taken away?”

“Can they do that? The foundation? Just take your scholarship money away?”

 _Shit_ , Clark thought, realising his mistake. “I mean, no,” he corrected quickly. “Like I think the scholarship goes on as long as I am here.”

“So what are you worried about?”

It was Clark’s turn to bite his lip, not knowing where to go from here, or what all he even wanted to share with the other boy. “Look, Atwal,” he said slowly, “You have to promise not to tell anyone this because it’s like private, alright?”

He felt those dark eyes scrutinising him, and Clark was a bit surprised at the words when Atwal spoke again.

“You can call me Karan, you know. Even if I think you’re a proper little shit for holding me captive all day, I feel like if you’re going to be divulging secrets you might as well not be calling me by my surname.”

“Alright,” Clark said hesitantly, “Karan, then. So, over the holidays, my mum was, like, sick. In her head. She gets like that sometimes. And the ministry wanted to put me up with strangers but Harry had seen me at King’s Cross and instead, him and Draco took me in for a few days. And Harry said if I ever needed, I could stay with them again.”

Karan looked like he didn’t know which of this he wanted to dissect first. 

“Potter and Malfoy live together?” He said, voice bewildered, “and you lived with them, too?”

Clark shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe Draco was just visiting. It was Harry’s house, and like I said it was just for a few days. But yeah, Harry swore to the Minister of Magic to keep me safe, with this wicked intense spell. And that was just for the hols, but I think he feels kind of, I don’t know, obligated now, and no one else has ever felt all that arsed about me. Like my mum loves me, but she can’t _care_ for me, at least not most of the time. And Harry does, and I think Draco does, too, even if he is less showy about it.”

“I still can’t believe they are dating,” Karan admitted. “Like, I remember Malfoy from before the war. He was a right wanker, and to Harry especially. Everybody knew it. Some of the rumours...well, by all accounts, they were vicious to each other. I think blood was spilled, even, but I don’t know the details.”

Clark wrinkled his nose, “Harry and Draco? Really? Jesus, I can barely imagine them having more than a civil argument, or tiny little snit.”

“So they’re actually, you know, in love or whatever?”

“I mean, I’ve never asked, but I think so? They are super affectionate. Like it’s embarrassing how affectionate they are sometimes. And Draco is a bossy git but somehow I think Harry gets a charge out of it, and he’s protective, too. I can’t imagine him giving Harry a hard time, truly.”

“Huh,” Atwal considered. “I mean, I kind of thought there was some credence to the rumour about Harry being controlled somehow, but Ginny Weasley and Longbottom—they were around last year and tough as nails—didn’t seem to think so. They are basically the leaders of the DA now, and I trust them. So if they say Harry’s not being manipulated, I’m inclined to believe it.”

“All that nonsense about Draco’s dad,” Clark shrugged, “I just don’t see it. Draco would do anything for Harry. I really believe that.”

“That’s kind of nice, really, isn’t it? That they found that?”

“Yeah,” Clark agreed, “I think it is.”

Just then, a weird, vaguely familiar shiver zipped along Clark’s spine. “Did you feel that?” he demanded. 

“Feel what?” Karan said.

“Are you wearing your amulet?”

“‘Course.”

Another shiver and then Clark felt it, a knock at the door of his mind.

“Karan,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm despite the fear welling up, telling him that this was it, this was really it. “The wait is over. And I think I need you.”

“Okay,” Atwal said slowly, looking concerned. “What do you need me to do?”

“She’s here,” Clark whispered. “And I’m going to chat with her. Just don’t let me leave this room."  
  
Atwal looked about as panicked as Clark felt, but Clark swallowed down his fear. He squeezed his eyes closed, focused his mind, and opened his thoughts. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence/gore (canon-compliant), ableist language.

“Hello, again,” it was the same sickly sweet voice from the autumn. 

Clark reacted instinctively, all those lessons with Harry and Draco honing his response. He let a black shroud descend across his memories, and focused on drawing her deeper into his thoughts, tethering her there. 

“Er, hi. It’s Lavender, right?” He didn’t speak aloud, not wanting to freak out Karan.

“Oh, so they have solved the mystery, have they? I wondered when they would.”

“Yep,” Clark agreed, wondering if he was supposed to keep that bit a secret. Oh well, too late now. “Think they are onto you.”

“Took them long enough. Ah well, I don’t mind being known," she said serenely. "I _was_ hoping you could do me a little favour, though.”

Clark snorted. “I bet you were. Want me to put another banner up?”

“Oh, nothing so tame as that,” Lavender said. Clark still couldn’t see her, either in the dorm or her mind’s eye. “That was back when I was still testing the waters, finding my own capabilities. Are you going to be a helpful little boy like last time?”

“Maybe,” Clark said, more curious as to what she wanted than anything. 

“How lovely.” Clark could almost feel the forced smile like an unpleasant sensation between his shoulder blades, causing him to arch slightly and shudder uncomfortably. 

“Tiering?” Atwal demanded, exhaustion warring with anxiety in his gaze. “What’s happening? Are you alright?”

Clark wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain his focus on Lavender while conversing with Karan, and he wasn’t keen to try, now that he had her here. He held a palm up to Atwal in what he hoped was a dismissive gesture. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Karanjeet said. “Should I get help?”

“Oh, is your little Gryffindor friend scared?” It was Lavender, following the line of his thoughts. Shit, his Occlumency was faltering. He yanked it down like a shade.

“I’m fine, Atwal,” he barked. “Do not fucking leave me.”

Karan eyed him uncertainly, but settled back against the headboard, crossing his arms. 

“Said him to go fetch another Slytherin,” prompted Lavender. “Maybe that little friend of yours.”

“Hiram?”

“Is that his name? The one who looks perpetually one unkind word away from calling for his mother? Yes. Bring him here.”

“You’ll leave him the fuck out of this.”

“Hm,” Lavender said, disappointed. “You were much more pliable last time. Perhaps I just have to wear you down? Go get him. Or have the Gryffindor get him. Now, boy.”

“No,” Clark said shortly. 

Lavender began repeating the instructions slowly, again and again, unrelenting. The words ricocheted around the void of Clark’s mind. It was as maddening as he remembered, but now he knew what she was, he didn’t feel tempted to give in. She didn’t stop. Clark scrunched up his face in irritation, chancing a glance at Atwal who was watching him intently.

“What’s happening,” Atwal hissed. 

Clark held up a finger, indicating he needed a second. He checked back in with his thoughts. Lavender was still at it. 

“Give me a bit,” Clark whispered, as if he could somehow stop Lavender from overhearing. “I’m just wearing her down.”

“You’re what? She’s in there? Like in your thoughts? For real? And you’re not like, committing arson or torturing me?”

Clark gave him a shaky grin. “Told you I’m no criminal.”

Lavender increased the volume and insistency of her instructions and Clark endured it, wishing he could blast her out with music, but his mp3 player was dead. He drew his knees up and blew a bit of hair that flopped down over his forehead out of the way, and waited. 

***

It must have been a better part of an hour before Lavender accepted that this particular tactic wasn’t going to be effective. 

“Right,” she sighed. “Stubborn little snake, I see.”

Clark was mostly just relieved she’d finally stopped. “I could have told you that if you’d let me get a word in edgewise.”

“You’re no fun at all,” she announced.

That was when Clark felt it, that curious tug that meant she was going to depart. Part of him wanted her to—because Jesus, she really was just so annoying—but he knew better. He wrapped a corner of his mind tight around her presence, and anchored it to himself, leaning into the instinct part of him that sometimes kicked in when something in him wanted Harry to stick around. Not that he’d ever tell Harry that. He felt her pull away, felt the way she snagged on his mind, the way she pulled harder. 

“What are you doing?” She railed, bouncing around the walls of his mind like a squash ball in a court. "Foolish boy, what have you done?"

“Stay awhile,” Clark told her, not bothing to hide his smugness. 

It must have shown in his face because Karan took notice. “What is it? What’s happened?” He urged, eyes narrowing in concern. 

“Not right now, Atwal!” Clark snarled, teeth clamped tight in concentration. 

“Let me go, you little bastard!” Lavender shrieked. 

“Nah, don’t think I will, thanks,” he informed her, calmly. 

“Let me out of your stupid, childish brain, you miscreant!” Lavender fired off a string of curses while the anger she’d been hiding behind the sweet facade crackled to life.   
Clark didn’t reply this time. The rage was extreme and he felt it take hold, pumping adrenaline through his system, flooding his muscles with tension, kicking his heart up a gear. He gripped the mattress so he wouldn’t throw something.

He’d not been expecting this. He thought if he could close of his mind to her, he’d be impervious to such an onslaught, but Merlin he’d been wrong. The fury made him shake and Karan shot up, racing to his side, grabbing his shoulder. 

“What is it, Tiering, what’s happening?”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Clark exclaimed, jerking away and throwing up his hands, pushing on Karan’s chest. “Sit on the other bed and if you move again, I’ll bind you, I swear to God.” Karan backed up, slowly seating himself on the bed. 

“There,” Lavender said, latching on to his outburst. “Doesn’t it feel good to let that out? Bring me your little friend and I’ll let you do it again. It will feel good, I promise. You’ll feel so much better when you’re not angry.”

“No!” Shouted Clark, and he realised he said it out loud this time. His grip on Lavender stretched thinly, tenuously and he grappled to maintain his hold. Karan’s thick eyebrows arched and his lips parted. Clark grabbed a wand, either his or Atwal’s he didn’t even know, and cast the spell, freezing the other boy in place.

“Oh!” Lavender cackled. “That is a fun one. Fetch another student, little Tiering, and I’ll show you some of my favourites. Some the Carrows taught me.”

“I won’t, you bloody psychopath! I’m staying here, and so are you and you’re staying with me, until your damn window of opportunity shuts up tight.”

Lavender didn’t seem thrilled with this plan. Her rage rattled his teeth as she whipped about his thoughts, shrieking wordlessly. Clark held on. 

***

After what felt like an eternity, Lavender tired herself out. Clark could hardly believe it when the high-pitched tirade faded to silence. 

The cwalus paused, as though to take a breath, then asked, “What do you intend to do with me?”

“I already told you. Just keep you here where you can’t cause any trouble.”

She huffed and they sat in silence for a long time. After the psychic storm, Clark was hardly complaining. 

“It’s boring,” Lavender whinged, finally. “At least let me peek at your memories.”

“Not happening,” Clark assured her. 

“Seems rude to force me to be your guest and not to even try to entertain me.”

“Oh, Christ. Think of yourself less of a guest and more of a prisoner, then.”

“Come on, bet you’re bored, too.”

“What do you usually do when you’re bored?” Clark asked. 

“Spy on students, mostly. Devise plans. I could tell you the juiciest gossip, you know.”

“I barely know anyone at this school.”

“Merlin, you’re dull. Well, what do you do, then?”

“Listen to music? Read ‘zines? Play Exploding Snap?”

“Well, it takes me a great deal of concentration to move anything physical in your world and I doubt I could do it with you holding me here, so try again.”

“We could, ah, play the animal game?” He offered weakly, remembering back to roadtrips with his Aunt Val, back when she’d still let his mum drop him off there. 

“What’s that?”

“You know collective nouns? Like a parliament of owls or a murder of crows? You like go through the alphabet and you come up with a new collective noun to go with an animal starting with the same letter. So I’d be like an arrangement of apes, and you’d be like a battalion of butterflies.”

“Sounds mildly amusing,” Lavender acquiesced. “I’ll go first. Hm, an...affliction of ashwinders.”

“The fuck?” Asked Clark. 

“You’re muggle-born, then? Really? I thought maybe from the cursing, but not terribly common, a muggle-born in Slytherin.”

“Well, never knew my dad, so I don’t know for sure. But muggle raised, at least.”

“Huh,” said Lavender, thoughtfully. “Well, magical beasts are allowed, alright? For the game?”

“What’s to stop you from just making shit up?”

“I didn’t realise the alphabet game required such scruples,” Lavender retorted.

“It doesn’t,” Clark admitted. “Whatever. Erm...a blustering of badgers.”

The game was amusing enough that they played it twice more times through, with foods, then back to animals.

“Not bad,” Lavender said, after a ‘Zodiak of Zouwu.’ “Fairly diverting, what else have you got?”

“I thought of the last one, it’s your turn this time.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like memories like that from my life are fading. You know, childhood games, little moments.”

“That…” Clark didn’t know what to say. “That sounds not great.”

“It isn’t, no.” Lavender admitted. “Maybe if I wasn’t so frightfully angry, I’d find it sad.”

“Why are you?” Clark queried. “Angry, I mean.”

“Because,” Lavender replied. “It’s not fair, is it? I was always told to be brave and to do the right thing, so that’s what I did. And where did it land me? On the bloody filthy floor of the great entrance with a werewolf snacking on my innards, not even a boyfriend to mourn me. I died a virgin, you know that? How pathetic.”

“Virginity is a construct,” Clark offered.

“Yes, well, for a construct it certainly feels like a big bloody deal!”

“Constructs do,” Clark acknowledged. “Humans are bollocks like that.”

“And then you and all the other myriad Slytherin, and bloody Draco Malfoy, a marked fucking Death Eater, well. They all get to enjoy their lives, living it up, la-di-dah. The house house is a bunch of backstabbing, two-faced, sneaks, and what do they get? Forgiveness and acceptance, and a castle full of Potter and his pets preaching tolerance.” Clark could feel the fresh surge of her anger, a threatening storm. 

“Hey,” he said quickly. “Fuck ‘em, right? Privileged brats always get their way. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I am still figuring out this Occlumency thing, but I thought maybe we could transform the space in my head to something more interesting than this black box.”

“Suppose it makes sense they’re teaching first years Occlumency,” Lavender mused. Clark didn’t correct her assumption, not wanting to tie himself too close to Draco or Harry, with whom she seemed particularly displeased. “Well. What did you have in mind? For your mind?” She giggled at that, and for a moment Clark could almost imagine her as a school girl, and not a terror. 

“Well, what do you look like?”

“Hrm,” Lavender said. “Just a second.” She popped into view: a pretty, blond girl with large dark eyes and wearing Gryffindor robes. 

“Oh,” Clark said. “Hullo.”

“Hi,” Lavender said, eying the projection of him in his brain. Clark tried not to think too much about how it all worked. “What’s your given name, then?

“Clark,” he replied. 

“What’s with your hair?”

“You know there are no actual school rules that mandate hair colour and style, right? Not my fault you all are a bunch of conformists.”

“And I thought I was angry,” Lavender observed with amusement. “Well. What do you want to do in here? I hope it’s not, like, some sort of nature scene. I’m not much for the outdoors.”

Clark hadn’t actually thought about it much at all. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Hm,” Lavender pursed her lips, thinking. “Well first, let’s deal with this.” Her school uniform disappeared and was replaced with a lavish blue ball gown.

“Well, now I feel underdressed!” Clark said, switching his own outfit to mirror Draco’s ridiculous morning attire. 

Lavender laughed. “Very swish.”

Clark bowed ostentatiously. “Thank you, thank you. Well, it seems as though we need some decor!”

He summoned up a powder pink and gold chaise behind Lavender and she called into view a wing-back chair and matching Ottoman. He brought into existence a ludicrous grandfather glock, and she, an intricate rug. Clark added a hearth and a roaring fire; Lavender added a framed portrait of herself. They continued like that, furnishing the imaginary sitting room, trying to out-do one another. Clark nearly choked on his laughter at the life-sized bust of himself that Lavender planted beside his chair. 

“Oh, how perfectly charming,” he said, in his best RP. “A little understated, don’t you think?”

“Well, darling, we don’t want to be gauche!” Lavender grinned. “I simply couldn’t bear it! Oh,” she said suddenly, looking dismayed. “Clark, I think it’s almost morning. I—.”

Whatever she’d been going to say, he didn't hear it, because suddenly she was gone.

Oddly, Clark found he almost missed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to finish this before I do the epilogue. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for such friendly support on this little coda. It has been a lot of fun! Appreciate you humouring me, as always!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is not totally complete, but it was going on forever and I want to return to the regular story. I might do the bit with Lavender later!?
> 
> If you actually read this, thank you?????? Will get back to the main story now, thanks for humouring my extreme hubris.


End file.
